Blaine had tried to be discreet about it. He had begged off their movie night so that he could snuggle deeply into the warm cocoon he had rolled their bed sheets and comforter into. The next morning, he had waited until he was safely underneath the sprayer of the shower to blow his nose harder than should be allowed in a futile attempt to clear clogged, tormented nasal passages. And finally, he had literally fled from the apartment under the guise of a forgotten group meeting before Kurt could realise that he was not warm from an extra hot shower and wonder at the fact that he had left with nothing but a quick peck to the cheek because, love of his life or not, Kurt would murder him if he gave him a cold during this busy time of their academic lives.
He had failed though, and miserably so. By the time he had returned home, face flushed and feet leaden as he stumbled his way across the threshold, Kurt had already set up the couch for himself. He was further chagrined at the decidedly un-amused expression he bore even as a bowl of chicken noodle soup, and a slew of medication were inflicted upon him. Finally, and just when Kurt had seemed ready to scold him, he had conceded that perhaps there was the smallest of possibilities that he was just the slightest bit ill. Kurt's snort had been legendary, but, with only a bit of reluctance, Blaine submitted himself to Kurt's ministrations, allowing himself to be bustled into baths and bed, to be awoken periodically for liquids and tablets as Kurt tried his best to return him to good help.
He even relished it in moments of lucidity, the brush of Kurt's palm against his sweaty forehead, the way he almost cooed at him in the aftermath of a particularly harsh bout of coughs or, on day three, when his stomach decided that all food was the enemy.
But then it happened.
On the Sunday the weather took a particularly horrid turn for the worst, and to compound it, they ran out of the tablet form of medication. Kurt was unable to leave their flat to go replenish that stock, and that left only one option, liquid medication that Blaine, absolutely, truly abhorred.
"No," Blaine grumbled, in his hoarse, barely there voice, compounding it by turning his head away.
They'd been at it now for at least fifteen minutes now. Blaine knew that he needed the medication, and the blissful haze it would undoubtedly give him. But, he simply couldn't. He could not bear the thought of that absolutely artificial glop slowly gliding down the measuring cup, to slide its way into his mouth and coat his tongue with its disgustingness before painfully slowly meandering its way down his ravaged throat to bubble in his already tumultuous stomach.
No he couldn't and he wouldn't and Kurt would just have to accept that, despite the fact that he couldn't see the logic behind it. Couldn't he just accept that he would be okay until the storm abated and Kurt could get the good kind? Who needed medicine anyway? He was sure that at any moment now, his body's defences would finally crack the code that would allow for a mass assault on the germs within him that would leave him bouncing back to reality without further need for fuss.
It was too bad that Kurt did not seem to be in the mood to agree with him if the glare on his face was anything to go by. Blaine knew that look he was sporting well – it was the one he had always seen directed at Finn back in Lima when he was being impossible. Rarely though had Blaine ever done something that necessitated Kurt turning that patented glare upon him, and truly, if he wasn't so firmly root in his anti-liquid stance, Blaine would have long since backed off.
"I don't want it," he repeated petulantly, turning his head away once again when Kurt, this time armed with a deeply slotted spoon that prevented spillage, approached. "M'fine."
"You are not fine, Blaine Devon," Kurt bit out, standing beside the bed. "Do you realise how ridiculous you are being right now? It's grape. You like grape."
"Real grapes," he returned, "not that garbage."
"Blaine -"
"I'm not taking it," Blaine declared, any attempt at determination lost behind a slew of painful coughs that rattled the bed.
"Well I guess it's moved past a simple stomach flu stage," Kurt said, mostly to himself.
He walked away from him then, clicking the lights off as he did. Blaine wondered about it briefly - it wasn't like Kurt to just leave him like this, even if he was annoyed with him. Nevertheless, if that meant that he would not have to swallow that liquid, he would take it. The lights were too bright anyway.
He would later tell himself to be extra careful anytime Kurt acted out of character. His boyfriend had outwitted him. A few minutes later, when he had just about completely descended into sleep, Kurt had appeared, dose correctly measured out and fed it to him before he could rouse the will to protest. He would do so...the next time he was conscious.
Kurt had not paid much attention to the series of pops from his phone. It was a little after ten on a Wednesday morning. It was about the time when Rachel had her weekly pre-dance class meltdown. Why she had willingly chosen to endure a second dance class with the blonde devil was beyond him, but one of these weeks Kurt knew he would lose all patience with her and remind her (politely of course because he wouldn't want to have to deal with Blaine's disapproval) that this was a torment of her own choosing and would she please not rehash the same issues every seven days.
But...just not this week, he had told himself hours earlier when he had settled for dropping the phone deep into the recesses of his jam-packed bag. She could wait - his assignment couldn't.
His days were hectic and he did not have a second to waste. The online databases had failed him, so that most of the essays he had planned to do in the wee hours of the morning now required him to actually, manually pour over book after book to gain the information he needed for his essays. And to get those books required him to take frequent trips to the library between classes and work until he could manage to assemble the army of authors he required.
But, despite the urgency of his academics, Kurt also had a secondary reason that had him speed-walking down the corridors that would take him to the library for the second time that day. His first trip (done seconds after the library doors opened) was for Blaine. He had snuck out his reading lists and had gone again to get him the most pressing of the materials. His boyfriend was in his fifth day of illness, but unfortunately, the real world would not wait on him and there was only so much leeway the university would give him. Thankfully, the librarian had paid little heed to the ID he had presented to her, otherwise he would have had a lot of explaining to do as to how he not only had, but also knew the intimate details associated with Blaine's account. That was not a discussion to be had pre-coffee.
To be fair, Kurt was, even now, a bit indecisive about helping his boyfriend out like this. He really was terribly ill, and despite his protests about it, Kurt was certain that his academic situation was not as dire as he had made it out to be the night before. But, for the first time ever, Blaine was having difficulties keeping up with his school load. Before his illness, Kurt had woken up many a night to find his boyfriend pouring over articles or books at odd hours of the morning with a pensive looks on his face. Just the previous Friday, Kurt had actually been awoken by Blaine's sobs, although, since the very next day Blaine had come down with a particularly vicious virus the next day, Kurt was pretty much certain that that had been the catalyst of that breakdown.
And so, just to keep him calm, Kurt had pushed aside his feelings towards the matter and assisted him, collecting books and assignments that couldn't be mailed, sitting and reading through materials for him and double checking his work, or else offer his assistance in any way possible. Nothing was going to derail their plans to graduate together in two years time if either of them could help it.
And so, although he would much prefer to be in the warmth of his own home, perhaps nursing a glass of juice while watching Blaine sleep, he was here, forcing himself to stay awake through a ridiculously boring compulsory course. Between his work, Blaine's stuff and taking care of said sick boyfriend, Kurt was exhausted.
Moreover, Blaine was being a handful in all the wrong ways. He was so stubborn about the most minor of details that Kurt at points over the past few days wanted to throttle him. That very first day, he had continued to insist that he was perfectly healthy and fine despite the fact that no human could hope to claim such a putrid shade of green as being their natural skin tone. But, the love of his life was the kind of person who could have his leg torn off and still insist that he could do a two step jig.
That thought had Kurt rolling his eyes in fond exasperation as he happily noted that there were only a few more minutes to go before the lecture ended. It wasn't as if he had to rush home though. For the past two days he had been fortunate enough to rope in a plethora of friends (both the now New York based McKinley friends and otherwise) who would routinely pop in at their apartment throughout the course of the day when he simply could not stave off his responsibilities.
Sam was especially a blessing given that he was all but immune to the force of sick-Anderpuppy eyes, and could bully Blaine as needed. Blaine's classmate Emily was also great company and would willingly read aloud so that he could keep up. It was with those comforting thoughts that Kurt, left the lecture feeling content, deciding that he had the time for a quick coffee before he had to meet with his study group. Blaine would be fine. He had ice-cream, DVDS, and had gotten an extra large dose of cuddles before Kurt had left him that morning.
It wasn't often that Kurt found himself in this position - one in which he could take care of Blaine to this extent. It was not as if he was denied the opportunity; Blaine was the most affectionate person he knew and would willingly, readily and quite often, lay quietly for hair petting and back rubs. But in times of difficulties...when he was stressed or worried? He tended to close himself off in a way that a younger Kurt would have found enviable. He didn't hold it against him, although to be honest, it did bother him. During one of the rare occasions when Blaine had been willing to speak about it, he had admitted to having trust issues that stemmed from Sadie Hawkins.
Kurt could completely understand the feeling of betrayal...of having no-one come to your assistance when, in the middle of a lit parking lot, you had the living daylights being punched out of you. The hurt of everyone claiming ignorance with regards to the identity of his attackers; the indignity of being forced out of his school because others hated him for being different; of being told that it was easily for him to remove himself from the situation rather than trying to educate the homophobic...it had all been too much for him.
High school freshman Blaine had learnt the hard way that the only person he could trust not to fail him was himself, a motto that had led him to striving to be a leader in all things. After all, he was the only one he could have faith in to lead whatever group he was in to success.
It was why, Kurt knew, he had worked his butt off to become the Warbler's front man, and then tried to establish a place for himself in the New Directions. His efforts were not always successful, but Blaine had always tried his best.
It wasn't to say that he didn't trust anyone. Kurt knew that Blaine loved and trusted him. It was just that, despite everything, it was still difficult for him to fully let go and hand himself over to Kurt in health, strength, sickness and weakness.
The new lifestyle Feather had introduced them too was slowly chipping away at that barrier - making them both whole in an entirely new way, but it was still far too early, too soon for Blaine to be an easy patient. And while Kurt loved him, if he was being completely honest, the constant struggle to convince Blaine to just lie in bed and recover was annoying at times. He had nearly collapsed seconds after he had arrived home Friday evening, and, once properly tended to, had admitted to being a "tad ill". The truth was that Kurt had, from that morning, felt the unnatural warmness radiating from him and discerned the odd rough edge to his voice that precluded hoarseness. But had Blaine admitted to it? Of course not, and had probably made his illness worse by walking through the chilly Fall weather.
Kurt huffed in remembered annoyance. He should have just chained his ankle to the bed.
A lot later on that he would have liked, Kurt was finally out of the campus, wishing that he had walked with an extra tote bag that would have made carrying this load considerably easier. Nevertheless, he made it to the train without issue, and, due to the time of day was able to claim an extra seat for his burden. It would be a good twenty minutes until he needed to start checking for his stop, and so he decided that that time could be dedicated to dealing with Rachel. It would give him that much more time later to give Blaine his full attention. Unlocking his phone, and smiling softly at a picture of Blaine at the stove, he quickly opened his messenger. He blinked in surprise. In between Rachel's messages was one from Emily. Curious, he opened it. A few seconds later, and with a scowl on his face, he took back up his belongings, prepared to exit the train prematurely.
He had to make a return trip to the campus.
Blaine knew that he looked decidedly woe begotten, and not solely because of his illness. He knew he was in a world of trouble, had known that from the moment he saw Emily tapping on her phone beneath her desk. It definitely had not been his greatest idea, but, in his defence, he really had felt a lot better when he had woken up that morning. Why then, should he have stayed home when he had a lecture for one of his hardest courses yet? It had made perfect sense at the time, and he had bundled himself up in an extra coat. He had been determined to make it. By the time he finally managed to trudge into the lecture hall, he had been only a minute or so away from passing out.
He felt horrible, and, if the horrified look on his friend's face had been any indication, he looked like hell as well. The worst part of it all (at that moment) was the fact that he had been in such a daze that he had not even been able to process any of his professor's droning words. It had been a useless endeavour on his part, and Kurt, when he found out, would be so mad at him. Emily gently touched his shoulder, drawing him out of his morose thoughts.
"Huh?"
"Class is over," she told him, her expression torn between concern, sympathy and just a shadow of annoyance. "Come on."
Blaine followed her without complaint, glad for the steadying grip she kept on his arm, as if that alone could help keep him on his feet. Did he look that bad, he worried? Due to her foresight, they were among the last to leave the classroom, which turned out to be a good thing. He would rather not have dealt with the speculation that would result if people saw the way he paled when, turning the corner, he saw Kurt, reclining against a wall, looking at him with steely eyes and a countenance that screamed dominance. Blaine barely resisted the urge to whimper. He was so going to get it.
"I believe this is yours," Emily said in a slightly joking tone, oblivious to the undercurrents flying between them.
"He is," Kurt agreed, straightening. "Thank you for telling me."
"I would have gotten him home myself, but I have a next lecture in an hour."
"That's okay, Em. I really appreciate this. We'll have to take you out for dinner whenever this one is back on his feet."
"Looking forward to it," she returned with a grin. "I'll leave you to it then. See you later Kurt. Blaine, just stay in bed, umm?" she added, before walking off without waiting for an answer.
Blaine had, for the duration of that conversation, been staring most determinedly at a spot on the floor, letting the words wash over him. All that he could discern really was that Kurt's voice was slightly higher pitch, a thing indiscernible to most but clearly evident to Blaine. It was Kurt's acting voice, for when he was masking whatever it was he was really feeling inside. Blaine was decidedly not in the mood to look closer to see what exactly it was that he was feeling. Now he was sick, guilty and in trouble. Now, more than ever, Blaine really wished that he had never left his bed.
Kurt's designer shoes came into his periphery before twin hands wrapped around his forearm, gripping him tightly.
"I'm sorry sir," Blaine whispered immediately, voice hoarse from days of coughing. "I-"
"Hush you," Kurt interrupted smoothly, voice equally soft. "Just listen. We are going to get you home and back into bed. You will be perfectly obedient from here on out, Blaine Devon, or trust me, you are going to be an even sorrier little boy when I am through with you."
A nod was the only thing Blaine could risk doing at this point, and so, docilely, he let himself be led.
The journey home was mostly a dazed blur to Blaine, passed with his head on Kurt's shoulder. Despite the anger bubbling beneath the surface, Kurt had cradled him close, and even hummed soothingly to him when the train took a turn rather sharply, jostling him. Kurt kept that arm around him as they walked into their home, releasing him only when they got inside. It was only then, as Kurt bent to put what looked like a recyclable cafeteria bag onto the ground, that Blaine even realised that he had been carrying something besides his regular bag. And yet he had held him close the entire way. For some reason that thought caused tears to sting in his eyes.
"Into the bedroom, Blaine," Kurt said, looking at him, "and back into your jammies. I'll be there soon."
Blaine nods, walking heavily across the floor, shedding garments haphazardly as he goes. He's already in trouble; things truly couldn't get much worse…
Dressed as Kurt had bid, Blaine sat on the edge of the bed, feeling completely sorry for himself. His head was throbbing, the queasiness had returned, and he just felt so tired, so exhausted. He wanted to sleep, wanted to do nothing else but sleep, but that wasn't what Kurt had told him to do. He probably was going to rip the hide off him, if not worse. He could only hope that he could bear it in his current state. It was deserved after all; he really had done a stupid thing.
Tears were trickling down Blaine's face by the time Kurt entered the room. He sniffled, failing to be discreet as he wiped his tears. He heard a clink – Kurt was depositing something – before surprisingly gentle fingers curled underneath his chin, lifting his head up. Almost reluctantly, Blaine obeyed the unsaid command and raised his eyes. Kurt's expression, while not completely warm and gentle, did not radiate with the depth of anger from before.
"Sir?" he managed.
"Whatever am I going to do with you, hmm?" Kurt said, with a soft sigh.
He had a handkerchief in his hand; with it, he dabbed at Blaine's cheek, tsking all the while. "So much trouble with you these past few days, and now this? You're certainly gunning for punishment, little boy. But not now," he added, when Blaine whimpered. "Right now, what you're going to do is eat this soup, take your medicine, and go to bed. The rest will be dealt with later."
"Yes sir."
"Good boy," Kurt said, a shadow of a smile flitting at his lips before, bending, he pressed his lips to his forehead.
The soup, Blaine ate without a word, glad for the way it soothed his throat as it slid down, warming him from the inside out. The orange juice as well was heavenly, and he drank two glassfuls under Kurt's watchful gaze. The medicine though… It was the same disgusting liquid Kurt kept trying to force on him. It wasn't fair, he groused. Kurt had had plenty of opportunity to get him tablets; it must be deliberate. Blaine shot him a morose look, and, despite knowing that he really should not do so, he shook his head.
"I don't want it."
"Do not make me repeat myself, Blaine Devon," Kurt snapped, his tone entirely fed up.
Blaine's eyes stung immediately at the words, and he ducked his head.
"Sorry," he whispered tearfully. "I-I'll drink it," he said meekly.
His defeated tone affected his boyfriend, for, momentarily, he found himself cradled in Kurt's arms, one hand gently carding through his head.
"I'm sorry too," Kurt whispered. "I should not have snapped at you."
"I deserved it."
"You're ill. I should be making allowances for that."
Kurt hugged him for several moments longer before feeding him the medicine.
"Bed now?" Blaine asked after grimacing.
"Yes. You probably haven't realised it, but your fever is back. Let's hope you can sleep it off."
"Okay," Blaine agreed, and in a minute, Kurt is bent over him, tucking the sheets firmly around him.
"Stay in bed Blaine," he told him after, sitting beside him. "You don't seem nauseous, but the pail is right here on the ground just in case. I don't care if you wake up and get bored, you are not to leave this bed except to go to the bathroom."
"Yes sir," Blaine responded, even as he found himself quickly growing drowsy. "I'll obey Kurt. I promise."
"See that you do and I'll keep that in mind for later."
Those words had a rather ominous edge to them, Blaine thought, but, the medicine was fast acting, and he was asleep before he could even start to formulate the words needed to ask a question regarding it.
Kurt was right. His misadventure set him back a few days. It was a difficult time, with Kurt refusing to leave the apartment unless he had ample supervision for him. He had proven that he could not be trusted, Kurt had told him simply, not even relenting when Blaine promised that, this time, he would not disobey. Blaine though, as initially, was far from the perfect patient. Occasionally he tested Kurt, getting out of bed, refusing to eat or once (and just once) refusing to take his medicine. It only takes Kurt's arching a single brow for him to relent, but he knew that it was too late. Strike number whatever had been made.
It is not until that weekend, a full week after he had become ill that both Kurt and Blaine could agree that he truly was on the road to recovery. He had woken that morning with considerable energy, and though the first few steps had been a bit shaky, by the time he had reached the kitchen, he felt well enough to pull together a simple breakfast for the both of them. Kurt hadn't questioned him past a hand against his skin to check his temperature before digging in to slightly over salted eggs.
"I feel so much better Kurt," Blaine said, once the dishes had been cleaned.
"You're not completely out of the woods yet though, honey," Kurt responded, still nursing his cup of coffee. "I want you to take it easy this weekend."
"I will. But isn't this great? I don't think I have to spend the entire day in bed. There's so much I can get down now…"
"We have something to take care of first," Kurt interjected, his tone still conversational as he set aside his now empty cup.
Perhaps it was the exuberance of feeling well, or the casualness of Kurt's words that caused Blaine to not realise the hidden meaning in that statement.
"Meet me in the living room please," Kurt finished, walking away.
"K. Just let me pack this."
"Hi, done," Blaine said, walking into the room.
Kurt was seated in the centre of the couch, posture relaxed. "Come here please," he bid, holding out a hand to him.
Blaine listened without question, and in moments, slipped his hand into Kurt's still extended one. "What are we doing?" he asked, curiously, a small smile on his lips.
"This," Kurt replied simply, before tugging hard on their clasped hands.
Blaine gasped, more in surprise than anything. The tug caught him off guard, and so, quicker than he could comprehend; he had tumbled down until he was sprawled across Kurt's lap, face down. The reality of the situation hit him immediately.
"Sir," he protested, even as Kurt rearranged his body as suited his knees, pushing his torso a bit further up onto the couch, and angling his legs so that he could trap them under one of his. "Sir, please."
"Please what, Blaine?" Kurt asked levelly, and there it was that edge to his tone that screamed that he was now in charge. "Please deal with all of the transgressions you have committed over the last few days? Please tan your backside red for being a brat over cold syrup? Please punish you as I promised to do until I am certain that you would never think of acting, for less actually carry on the way you did these past few days, again? Gladly Blaine; you never need doubt me taking you to hand when you need it."
Blaine did not even know where to start responding to Kurt's statement, and indeed, Kurt did not give him much opportunity to do so as, lifting his hand, he brought it down with a crisp smack against Blaine's pyjamas covered behind. It smarted immediately, not overbearingly so, but in a way that plainly told Blaine that he was in for a most unpleasant time. And it was. With each downward fall of Kurt's hand, Blaine forcibly remembered his behaviour over the past few days. Each smack was both a reminder, a chastisement and a warning to him to not repeat his actions. In under a minute, the lesson was learnt, and Blaine found himself dissolving into tears and breathy sobs.
Crying, Blaine reached down to grasp a bit of material from Kurt's pants in his hand, taking comfort from the small contact. He wiggled as the sting escalated, tears running faster from his eyes as Kurt sped up the tempo. Finally, after a little over three minutes, Blaine was overcome. A particularly sharp smack drew a wail of misery from him, and surprisingly, Kurt immediately ceased, the hand that was so sternly applying discipline to him switching to a gentle caress of the small of his back.
Later, Blaine would realise that it was his own residual illness that exacerbated the punishment, for truly, Kurt had gone easy on him. The pink tinge to his backside would, by that afternoon, be completely gone, replaced by the slightest tinge of soreness. But for now, it was as if Kurt had applied a flame to his behind, and Blaine cried, and twisted long after he had ceased, until finally, the pain receded enough for him to calm down and recognise that, alongside the taps to his back, Kurt was speaking to him.
"There, there. You're fine Blaine. Come now, it was not too strict a punishment. You are still too ill for me to treat with you as you deserve. There's a good boy. That's it, deep breaths, calm down for me. I doubt your butt is more than pink. I'd have spanked you scarlet as you deserve, but, given your state, it would be just cruel. But no more, you hear. Any more misbehaviour like this and I will take that slipper you so love doling to me to your own backside and see if you appreciate its message more than me. There we go. There we go. Yes honey, that's it, you're fine."
"Sleepy," Blaine murmured eventually, long after calming. He was simply laying there, still across Kurt's lap, although it was considerably more comfortable now that Kurt was not tapping out a far from cheery tune against his poor behind.
"It's to be expected," Kurt replied softly, only now moving to help him straighten. "You're still not fully back to yourself. It's why I went so easy on you in the first place. Come on Blaine, let's get you back into bed for a nap, okay?"
"Yes sir," he answered, feeling lighter within himself.
He knew without asking that Kurt had, with that punishment, wiped the slate clean. Oh, he didn't doubt that if he stepped out of line, Kurt's full wrath would descend upon him, but for now, the matter was closed and over with. There was no more punishment dangling above his head, no need to worry about what and when Kurt would punish him. No, all he had to do now was rest, relax and sooner than later hopefully, return to full health.
